Dare I Say
by Thee Mango
Summary: Supernatural AU, complete with crossovers, OC's, and whatever else i wanna put in here. Sam and Dean go to destroy a ghost in a supposedly abandoned house, but... they're not the only ones there.


Dare I say, Chapter One?

Dean hit the ground with a jarring of his ankles, and broke immediately into a run, catching up quickly to Sam, and the girl they had helped over the fence. She was tall, taller than Dean, but a couple inches short of Sam. She gasped for breath, obviously not used to this kind of running pace, and the tears running down her face, the broken sobs coming from deep in her chest were definitely not helping. Sam kept running, a hand on the small of her back, her shoulders heaving, pushing her forward, forcing her away from the house.

They broke through the edge of the woods, after stumbling over branches and trees, and hit the pavement where the car was parked, a smooth black machine, built for power and speed. Sam shoved the girl into the back seat where she dropped, pushing herself into the smallest space possible. Dean raced the last few feet to the car, shoving the key into the trunk lock and popping the door, grabbing the weapon he knew waited for him. A roaring, screaming wind blew up past his ears, blocking the sound of Sam slamming the door shut. He loaded the shotgun, shells filled with a few things Missouri had given them that got rid of nasty spirits.

When the wind stopped, his eyes searched the woods for movement, spinning in small tight circles, shotgun pointed at the ready. "Dean!" Sam's shout filled the air, bringing Dean around, aiming at the figure of the dented and rotting man. That moment, with success within reach, always brought his aim true. His shoulders up, he tightened his finger on the trigger, and pulled. The casing hit the ground, along with ash from the dissolving creature. When nothing was left, he lowered the gun, chest still heaving from lost breath. There was no more screaming, the only sound Dean's breathing, and Sams sigh of relief.

He jerked his head up with a chuckle. "Don't tell me you were worried." Sam gave a ghost of a laugh. "Nah. Just wondering how long it was gonna take you to make that shot. I mean, it's a shotgun. Even you couldn't have missed." Dean snorted, placing the gun back in the trunk, closing the door with a thud. Sam pulled open the passenger door and slid into the seat, turning to speak with the girl sobbing silently in the back, wedged tightly in between the floor and seat. Dean walked over and closed the door on him, ignoring the glare he shot at him through the window, around the front and into the driver's seat.

It took half the drive back to town for Sam to coax her to sit in the seat, but only a few reckless turns by Dean for her to gain enough recollection to buckle her seat belt. After that, he drove a little more carefully, giving Sam a wry half smile. They drove for a while longer, until she'd calmed, then Dean pulled into a quiet diner, and hooked a booth in a corner. Sam ordered food as the waitress served coffee, her lips pursed with worry over the sorry state of the girl. An apologetic look, complete with a sweet smile from Sam got her to adjust her wire-framed glasses and leave the coffeepot on the table, leaving them to their own devices.

Dean looked the girl over. She wasn't bad looking, kind of plain, but she'd be pretty when she was done up, he mused. Her hair hung limp with dirt, a little more smudging her face where she'd covered her eyes. She stared at her coffee, and hadn't met their eyes once. She wore a brown sweatshirt, with the wear and age on it visible. Her jeans had grease stains right along the mud, but although her clothes were dirty, she'd still smelled of laundry soap when Dean had helped her over the fence. A black shoulder bag, slung crossways across her back had rattled as they'd ran. A pair of black skater shoes with frayed seams and pulling soles hung on her feet, and her only jewelry consisted of a black waterproof watch on her left wrist. She had long fingers with dirt under her nails. They'd wrapped themselves around the ceramic coffee cup, and the warmth had seemed to ease her trembling.

He grabbed his own and relaxed back into the crackling leather seat, taking a small sip of the steaming liquid. A small sigh of contentment escaped his lips, and he broke the silence with," So. Who the hell are you, and what were you doing in that house?"

She flinched, a little, her fingers tightening around the mug. She still wouldn't meet their eyes, and it was getting irritating. Dean sniffed, and then laid his hand on the table. "We just saved your ass little girl. Now what were you doing in there?" Sam shot him a look, but looked back at the girl in curiosity. She let out her breath in a whoosh, and cleared her throat on its way back in.

"My name is Megan. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I had permission to be there." Her voice was a little hoarse from crying, but low and smooth. She finally took a sip of coffee, keeping her eyes closed.

Dean grunted, remembering the last Meg they'd dealt with, hoping this one wasn't into demon summoning and murder. "Sure, whatever. But what were you doing there?"

She undid the clasps on her bag, pulling up the flap and reaching inside. She pulled out a pad of paper, thick white drawing paper, and opened it, flipping past half the book to a half-finished page and pushing it across the table. Sam pulled it in front of him, examining the page.

"This is the house we were in." it showed a rough layout of a sprawling staircase, and although it was just a sketch, it made clear what the house used to look like in its golden day.

Dean looked at it for a moment before quipping, "You expect me to believe you drew this at night, with no light, and your eyes closed?"

"Dean!" Sam barked, only to cut off by a light laugh from the girl.

"You'll have to excuse me," she said, her lips curving up into a wry smile. She opened her eyes, large doe eyes, masked with the milky whiteness of the blind. "But I don't exactly need light."


End file.
